“Those weapons are the new Chinese type-87 assault rifles, a copy of the British SA-80 bullpup,” Lauren whispered so softly her voice was like a ghost’s. “Notice how the magazine is placed behind the trigger grip to make the weapon more compact.”
Mercer remained silent, watching.
Realizing he was more interested in the workers than the soldiers, she asked, “What are they loading?”
Each man took just one object from the stack on the floor, and struggled to carry it to the van. It was the small size and great weight that tipped Mercer off. His voice was suddenly hoarse. “Gold!”
No sooner had he mouthed the word than one of the supervisors stepped over and slid the cloth covering off one of the bars, revealing the unmistakable buttery yellow gleam. Lauren drew a sharp breath. Mercer had seen more gold than most people, rough nuggets and ranks of ingots at some of the big mines on South Africa’s Witwatersrand, and still it held him enthralled. He put a quick estimate of forty million dollars on the blocks being loaded into what he now recognized as a disguised armored car.
“Is that from the treasure your friend was looking for?”
Nodding, Mercer whispered back, “They must have found it when I was in the hospital and have already melted it down. For that much bullion they must have a smelter someplace in this building. That’s why none of the Panamanians have been allowed inside.”
“What about the cargo Victor said came in last night?”
“No idea.” The Chinese superintendent made some comment to the worker and they both laughed. The cloth was replaced and the gold bar went to join the others in the armored van.
“They’re going to smuggle the gold out of Panama?”
To Mercer that scenario didn’t make sense. “Why bother with an armored car when they can put it directly on a Shanghai-bound freighter? No, I think they’re going to transfer it to a bank.” Lauren’s exceptional eyes asked the follow-up question of why. He had no answer.
“Here’s something else to think about,” she said. “Those assault rifles the guards are carrying are only issued to China’s elite forces, like the first troops they sent into Hong Kong after the handover from Britain in 1997.”
He failed to see her point. “Meaning?”
“Meaning this operation has probably been sanctioned by the Chinese government.”
Mercer knew that after the drug trade, the second largest source of illegal revenue in the world came from the smuggling of art and antiquities. It was a multibillion-dollar business that garnered few headlines and even less resources to combat. Much of the activities were art forgery and theft-for-hire, but the plundering of archeological digs was fast becoming a huge business in its own right. Especially in South and Central America, where governments didn’t have the means to protect the hundreds of newly discovered sites. Most of the looting was carried out by locals, who would steal one or two pieces from a tomb then sell it immediately for a fraction of its value.
It seemed logical that someone with the contacts and wealth to operate on a larger scale would eventually organize a more systematic pillage. That’s what Mercer thought he’d stumbled across. Beginning with the attack in Paris, he’d always assumed that Gary Barber’s rival for the Twice-Stolen Treasure was a corrupt businessman. Jean Derosier had said a Chinese executive snapped up all the other relevant documents at the auction. That idea was further solidified when Roddy Herrara told them the helicopter belonged to Hatcherly Consolidated, run by a director named Liu Yousheng. Lauren’s revelation that only government troops possessed these weapons threw his assumption on its head.
The intensity of her stare was enough for Mercer to believe her deduction and rethink his earlier conclusions. At the time, Roddy’s suggestion that Liu had influence in China’s government hadn’t made an impression. Now it took on new meaning. Since the dawn of civilization, government officials commonly looted their own nations of treasures. Mercer’s experiences in Africa made him think it was almost a prerequisite. On a vacation to Egypt earlier in the year he’d learned that the tombs in the Valley of the Kings had been sacked shortly after a pharaoh’s interment by a band of thieves headed by the mayor of Luxor, the closest city. History had proven that only King Tut had escaped their well-organized raids.
But if the Chinese government really was behind this, it was no different than the Nazis plucking artwork off museum walls during their occupation of Europe. International law concerning recovered archeological treasures was murky when the origin of the loot was in question. Mercer had no idea who owned title to the Twice-Stolen Treasure—Peru, where it originated, or Panama, where it had remained hidden for centuries? He was damned sure, though, it wasn’t China.
What he was witnessing sickened him. Far from the monetary considerations, he was most bothered by the destruction of the ancient relics that must have been found at the lake. They represented a window to the past that had been melted down to innocuous gold bars so some Chinese commissar could add them to a ledger sheet. Unconsciously his hand tightened on his pistol. Lauren put a hand over his to stop him from doing something stupid. “We have to get out of here.”
“How?”
Lauren surveyed the building once again. Mercer could feel her concentration, almost see her thoughts as she juggled stealth, speed, and odds of success. Her answer came in short seconds. “There’s a shallow trough on top of the gravel pile where it lays against the side of the building. It stretches almost all the way to the front door and will cover us if we stay low and silent.”
“What about the fence outside?”
She had a ready answer. “I didn’t see any insulators so it’s not electrified, and the razor wire on top angles out to prevent people entering, not leaving. We can climb over no problem.”
Mercer glanced over the edge again. The top of the long gravel mound was about six feet from the wall, leaving a gully more than adequate to shield them as they ran for the far doors. The problem was reaching it. Because of the crates, they couldn’t get close enough to the wall to jump over the crest of the pile and land in the trough. No matter how far they leaped, they’d still end up on the mound’s exposed flank in full view of the smugglers. It was a gamble, but he could see no other option.
“All right,” he agreed. “Wait until they’re looking the other way and go. I’ll be right behind you. But be careful, the gravel doesn’t look like it’s settled so you may sink in it like quicksand.”
“Gotcha.”
She waited for the right moment with preternatural calm, her whole body coiled. When she launched herself, her movements were as graceful as a gymnast’s. Her leap took her to within five feet of the hill’s summit, but the impact sank her up to her knees in the loose stones. Even as she began struggling up the mound, Mercer jumped after her. He absorbed a brutal blow by intentionally landing spread-eagle to disperse his weight. Chest aching, he hauled on Lauren’s arm and scrambled for the crest. Dust powdered his clothes and stuck to his greasepaint. A sheet of gravel slid to the concrete floor in a hissing wave.
Mercer rolled over the top and almost had Lauren to safety when he heard a shout over the sound of the idling trucks outside. They’d been spotted.
He expected a few seconds for the guards to organize. He didn’t get it. Two soldiers opened up with their assault rifles the instant the alarm was raised, their weapons echoing in the building’s confines. Lauren began to slither along the trough. The 5.8mm rounds kicked divots in the gravel and blew wedges from the hill’s sharp peak. A shower of pebbles pinged off the metal wall and peppered her back.